Enchanted
by embrace-your-inner-dork
Summary: Millicent Bulstrode has never felt wanted. Vincent Crabbe has never felt powerful. Perhaps, at a party of Draco's, a different sort of magic could grant their wishes. Edited slightly; rated for implied sex.


Millicent Bulstrode had never felt wanted.

Looking at herself, she didn't find it hard to see why. She was just a fat, ugly, angry girl with a boyish haircut and a cat meaner than Mrs. Norris.

"She's a filthy halfblood, and probably part hag, too. How'd she even get in here, anyhow?"

"Y'know, sometimes I wonder if she's even a girl."

"Stay away from the Bull; she's all big tits and hard hits."

It didn't matter that she was smart, or hardworking, or anything. Her passion for animals, her aptitude for politics, her ambition to be Minister of Magic—none of that mattered. All that mattered were her fists. They earned her immediate fear. They got her attention—attention she craved—in the only way she knew how to get it.

So why didn't it ever work?

Wasn't fear supposed to mean respect, too? Wasn't someone in the bloody school smart enough to see through her and do something? Didn't anyone understand at all? Merlin knows she wasn't the only bully around. She wasn't the only fat or ugly person. Hell, she wasn't even the only blood-tainted Slytherin—not even in her year. Tracey Davis was half, too. But, Millicent supposed, the others excused that because she was pretty. That was always how things worked out, apparently. Was she honestly that scary, that when she attempted to talk to someone, the person would either ignore her or run away? Maybe she wasn't the doe-eyed ingénue type like Tracey, or the brassy bombshell Daphne was, and she couldn't hold a candle to Pansy's seductive powers. But, bloody hell, she could command attention in her own right.

So why didn't it mean anything?

But then Draco started trumpeting word of a party he would be hosting after school let out for the year. Miraculously enough, she had been invited. It was almost unfathomable. Millicent Bulstrode, bottom of the social hierarchy, the fearsome ogre living in the fairytale kingdom of Slytherin House, allowed to attend a celebration thrown by His Most Royal and Sovereign Highness Draco Malfoy himself? But then, that didn't necessarily mean anyone actually wanted her there. He'd probably invited at least every Slytherin in their year, and, like it or not, she was one. They probably knew she'd catch on if she wasn't invited, and they didn't want to face her wrath. Yes, that must have been it. That was the only explanation that made sense.

But still…well, it was nice to pretend, if only for a night, that the ogre could be turned into a princess. After all, nobody had ever heard of an unloved, unwanted princess.

* * *

Vincent Crabbe had never felt powerful.

However, the average onlooker would be hard-pressed to believe this. Between his hyper-violent tendencies—stemming from his general impulsive nature, he _swore_—and the fact that he stood taller and wider than almost everyone else in the school, it was only logical to assume that he was a dominant force to be reckoned with. And sometimes, he liked to believe that too. That was why he bullied people—not because he was truly nasty, or because it was a cheap thrill, but because he wanted to feel like he had power.

No, that was a lie.

The real reason he did it was to defend Draco, to straighten out anyone who openly disdained him, to pound some sense into the heads of people who had the nerve to defy or insult him—or, God forbid, to outsmart him. That, of course, was the part that made him a mere subordinate. And besides, true power doesn't come from challenging those who have no real chance. That's not a challenge. That's not power.

But, oh, how he wanted the average onlooker to be right.

How was it that someone who had the potential to command respect and demand whatever he wanted at any given point, such as himself, was able to be whipped by a spoiled little rich boy? No, that was a dumb question. It was obvious—it was _because_ Draco was a spoiled little rich boy. He got whatever he wanted, when he wanted it, from whomever he wanted. He could snap his fingers and the world would stop for him.

Draco had power.

And in all this time, perhaps some of Draco's power would transfer to him. He would be the right-hand man, and he would have people actually listen to him, and heed his words. He would be the prince's most trusted aide, the one making the real decisions, while the prince acted as a mouthpiece. The aide had the power, the power to manipulate the prince's will. He wanted that kind of power.

So, when Draco started planning on whom to invite to his party, it was going to be a rather short guest list. But that was a waste of space, having only a few people over to the largest manor in the country, wasn't it? Draco agreed, then, that a larger list was in order. And Millicent, he would nudge to Draco. Aren't you afraid of what she'd do to you if you didn't invite her? You can't leave her off. Millicent, then, was invited.

So much for His Royal Highness hiring giants to be his "trusted aides." Simple-minded giants like Vince and Greg couldn't possibly outsmart the prince. They were there for protection, and for show. They couldn't think on their own.

This was a start of new beginnings for all. For him, especially, there would be meaning. And starting at that party, he would have power for the first time in his life. Oh, this simple-minded giant was not going to toy with the prince. He was going to overthrow him, to become a prince himself.

* * *

Princess Pansy hiccupped loudly, second glass of Firewhiskey in hand. "Draco, sweet, I think we've, ah, played quite enough I've Never."

"I concur," Lady Daphne nodded, teetering dangerously with four empty glasses in front of her. "Let's play something more exciting, more scandalous."

"Something less prone to kill us," Duke Theodore Nott added dryly. His first glass was only half empty. "Not everyone can hold their liquor well."

Standing up, Prince Draco himself cleared his throat and looked down over his nose at the attending party. Gesturing for Pansy to wait a moment, he delivered an exceptionally ornate, phony oratory about how everyone invited had stood by him all these years, and he'd wanted to give something back to them, his loyal subjects. A round of good-natured applause rose up among them after the lie, and so he declared it was time to play Truth or Dare.

So shall it be done, as Prince Draco orders it.

Vince kept an eye out for opportunity. Perhaps he could get someone to ask him, get it out of the way, and then on his turn, he would ask Draco. Oh, the things he could do, the power he could have over the monarch of Slytherin. For a few moments, he wouldn't be the useless lump of flesh he'd always been.

But nobody bothered to ask him. They were much too busy lovingly picking on each other. Or perhaps, they had similar ideas to his. Perhaps they were deliberately putting those equal to or greater than themselves at their mercy. What did they need to bully around those lower on the hierarchy for? But then, even Greg was in on the festivities. This, of course, could probably be chalked up to the fact that Greg was horribly drunk, and this would be a source of amusement. They could make him do or say whatever they wanted, and he'd do it willingly, and likely have no recollection of it in the morning. It was the perfect excuse to exercise power over him.

Vince felt sorry for his friend. Strangely, he also felt sorry for the people using him, that they had to get their fix by manipulating an inebriated person. It was like when he himself pushed around those younger than him; it wasn't a real challenge, it wasn't real power.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Millicent leaning against the wall. She'd been playing earlier, taking large swigs of the Firewhiskey at almost every turn. Whether she'd actually done most of those things or she was out to shock and impress, nobody was entirely sure. But then halfway through, she'd gotten sick all over the rug from all the liquor, and nobody had wanted her in the game anymore. So, she'd kept off by herself after that, knowing she hadn't been wanted at the stupid party anyway.

She had just performed a rudimentary Soothing Spell on herself and was about to grab some hors d'oerves off the table when she noticed Vince looking at her. Her eyes lit up for a moment. He wasn't glaring, or sneering, or anything like that. Was that a good thing? Did he pity her? Did he—dare she think it—like her? It was quite sad, she thought, when even someone like Vince was far out of her league.

Still studying Millicent, Vince was convinced he needed to do something. It took Pansy saying his name, in that voice of hers that made everything sound dramatic and urgent, for him to look away from the girl who was much weaker than she let on. He turned around to face the others in the circle.

"It's about time you landed back on Earth, Crabbe. Busy checking out Millie, I see." Pansy cocked a perfect eyebrow at him. "So, truth or dare?"

Well, the first step to power was making an impression, wasn't it? Taking a moment to think, he nodded and replied, "Both."

The circle hushed, and everyone looked at each other for some sort of confirmation. That had certainly been out of the blue

"Both?" Pansy repeated. "Draco, can he do that?"

Draco only smirked. "Why not? Twice the fun, isn't it?"

"Oh. Well, then, I'd say you just got yourself in twice the trouble, Crabbe." Flipping her hair, Pansy pondered a second. "All right, is it true that you are the only reason Millie got invited?"

Millicent's head perked up at the mention of her name. She gave Vince a questioning, almost hopeful, look. Vince replied with one of his oh-so-common impulses. Locking eyes with Millicent for a moment, he turned to Pansy, jutting out his jaw almost defiantly. "Yes. I made him invite her. And I'm glad I did it, too."

As the circle buzzed with hushed whispers, Pansy sneered. "Fine. Since you seem to like her so much, I dare you to take her in there—" she stood up, pointing to an empty walk-in closet, "—and snog her senseless."

The others were riveted by this battle of—what was it, exactly? They looked expectantly to Vince. Without even blinking, he looked up at Pansy.

"Okay."

He'd said he wanted to do something, and this was what he was doing. Standing up, Vince walked across the room and took Millicent's hand, then headed for the closet. Catcalls and whistles echoed from behind him as he closed the door after the both of them. In the sliver of light coming through the door crack, they stared at each other.

Millicent furrowed her eyebrows, her gaze harrowing. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to," Vince coarsely whispered. "Because I had to."

"Because of me?" No. She couldn't believe she'd just said that, and she was a total idiot for even thinking it.

He leaned in closer. "Yes."

The first kiss was tentative; they had no real reason for it, did they? Vince had to have been lying. He was just doing it because he took the stupid dare on a stupid impulse. And Millicent! She just must have been too jaded to protest. But then something seemed to spark in that instant, a stark realization that there was more to it. Suddenly Millicent knew that Vince had told the truth—he was doing this for her. He liked her. He cared about her. He wanted her. And it dawned on Vince that right at that moment, he had real power—not only physical power over the toughest girl in school, but the power to change her, to make her happier, to grant her wish.

Something had changed.

A raw surge of emotion overtook the two of them, and they grasped on to each other, as if for dear life. With her rough hands locked on his shoulders and his brawny arms bound around her waist, Millicent acquiesced, arching her back as Vince pinned her against the wall and kissed her again, this time with a fierce sense of urgency. Somehow, it felt right, as if it was supposed to happen. And as they kept going, wrapped up in each other, the whole world seemed to run in slow-motion for these two lost teenagers. Vince had moved down, kissing Millicent's neck, and before either one knew what was happening, they started fumbling to get each other's robes off, as if the garments were on fire. Reality tried to bring them back as Pansy shouted through the door that they could stop now, they got the point, the dare was over.

But the dare was over before it had begun.

This was a different sort of magic altogether. And the entire perfect little fairytale kingdom of Slytherin was thrown into an uproar as the tension rose. Perhaps Vince didn't get to overthrow the prince, and maybe Millicent didn't magically become a princess. But that didn't matter. Besides, who would want an ogre princess and a giant prince anyhow?

As the loyal subjects hushed curiously at Prince Draco's command, the ogre and the giant were freed.

The spell had been broken.

They were human.


End file.
